


466. My love goes any distance (traveling with no resistance)

by SevlinRipley



Series: This is No-Terror Ground [3]
Category: It - All Media Types
Genre: Ambiguous Relationship Roles, First Kiss, Friendship/Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Non-Sexual Age Play
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2019-03-13 02:04:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13560366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SevlinRipley/pseuds/SevlinRipley
Summary: Richie's own enthusiasm keeps overwhelming him. Eddie's about to find out why.• Wednesday; June 09, 1993





	1. Chapter 1

Backpack loaded onto his shoulders, Richie found himself thrilling at the idea of presenting Eddie with the gift he'd purchased. The curtains were closed, and the window unlocked, so as he made his way in, he was grinning wide, saying, "Hey Eds..." sing-song, "I have a sur - oh." Eddie, in his every day clothes, was laying flat on his back, on the bed, the back of his forearm covering his eyes.

"Headache," Eddie said, by way of explanation for the curtains. Just there to block out the light.

'You're not just saying that, are ya?' Richie thought, a joke about a wife letting her husband down with a white lie. Though it brought him no joy, because as much as he liked fucking around, feeling sick, or pain in general, wasn't funny. He might joke about having 'boo boos' from time to time, but even he still shouted about a stubbed toe, or complained about a paper cut between his thumb and index finger.

"Did you already take aspirin?" What was he thinking? Of course Eddie Kaspbrak had already taken aspirin! "Scratch that. I didn't ask. Is it one of those tension headaches?" 'I can give ya a massage, if ya know what I mean.' popped into his head, and he quirked his mouth to the side. "Want me to rub your shoulders or something? Or is it more like a cold compress deal?" Maybe more like a wet washcloth over the forehead and eyes? Eddie probably would've gotten either of the latter two for himself, if they were needed. Unless he was uneasy about setting his mom off on some tangent if she caught whiff of what he was after...

First groaning under his breath, Eddie said, "You don't have to." In a way that meant he would actually really appreciate it, but was too considerate to let himself feel better at someone else's expense.

Richie's mouth turned up at one corner, and he shook his head. "I don't mind. Come on, sit up." He dropped his bag from his shoulders, and climbed up on the bed.

Behind Eddie, he sat back on his heels, knees splayed at either side of Eddie's hips, and immediately began feeling for knots with the pads of his thumb, beneath Eddie's polo. Richie, although never very good with silence, knew he ought to keep quiet since sound could also bring out the sharp, jagged pains of a migraine. Or even just a plain old headache, like he hoped this one was. So, because he couldn't help himself, he hummed a tune from the radio, ultra-quiet, behind his pursed lips, and really dug at the aches in Eddie's back, shoulders, and neck.

Until Eddie's head lolled forward, body becoming more malleable, relaxing into the coolness of Richie's fingers.

"You're pretty good at this," Eddie mumbled. Richie smiled. His hands were edging toward getting tired, knuckles becoming heated with the work. But he supposed with all the joysticks and button-mashing, right along with branch-breaking and dam-building activities that filled his youth, he might've found some sort of strength in his hands that lent to being a good masseuse. Eddie patted his knee, reaching behind him just slightly, and Richie thought, just for a second, about wrapping an arm over Eddie's shoulder, across his chest, and pulling him in for either a noogie or a backwards hug.

Instead, for some reason - maybe the anticipation jumping back in from when he'd first entered Eddie's room that day - he reached down to Eddie's sides, and tickled at him while saying, "Yeah? Well you were pretty cute in those pajamas...!"

"Oh my god, stop!" Eddie, laughing, wriggled around like a fish on a hook, but mostly ended up slumped backwards over Richie's thigh, as Richie ceased his torture.

Looking down at his dust-rose cheeks, and Eddie's half-condemning, half-tickle-drunk eyes, Richie sighed. He reached his hand up, fingers running through Eddie's quaff of immaculately styled hair, the base of his palm ghosting over the warmth at Eddie's forehead. He frowned then, turning his wrist to press the back of his hand to Eddie's skin, there. "Sorry... Did I make your headache worse? You don't have a fever do you?"

Eddie, whose eyes had blown wide at the touch of his hair, just for a moment, licked at his lips, and then sat up. "I don't think so." But he began rummaging through his bed table, anyway, bringing out a thermometer.

"And no, I think the aspirin kicked in..." Eddie unsheathed the thermometer, and pushed the little button at its base, then stuck the metal tip under his tongue. Richie, meanwhile, folded his legs outward, so that his knees could catch a break, while they waited for the little song to ring out. A trill of beeping went off, and Eddie removed the stick, looked at the digital display, and then showed it to Richie. "Fine, see? Have I turned you into a worry-wart after all these years?"

"Me?" Richie scoffed. "Nah, I wasn't worried. Just didn't want you getting me sick."

Smirking, Eddie huffed out a short laugh, and said, "Yeah _right_." Eddie made quick work of putting the thermometer away before he said, "Anyway, I'm feeling better. Thanks. ...What were you saying when you first came in?" He sat back on the bed, at its edge, and then fell back, lying with his legs over the side, looking at Richie from the corner of his eyes.

"Oh," Richie said, glancing at his pack on the floor. "That was. I thought you would be -"

"In my PJ's?" Eddie offered quietly, like it was some sort of code. Just the way Richie thought the curtains must've been, in his mind. "Did you want me to - you know...?" Go get them on.

Richie's brow furrowed at the question, and he huffed out a laugh. "Like that's _my_ decision to make. You sound like I _prefer_ you be ' _Baby E_ ' or something. I'm here to hang out with you, whether its picture books, or planning our survival of the zombie apocalypse." Tapped Eddie's hip with the toe of his shoe. "You know that, right?"

After a quiet moment, Eddie smiled, and said, eyes narrowing, "So what'd you get me?"

Shaking his head, Richie laughed. "Mm-mm, I'll give it to you when I'm good and ready."

"Did you really bring apple juice?" Eddie asked, curious, an underlying giddiness at the thought of Richie having done so. His eyes were bright.

So Richie gave in and said, "Sure I did. I told you I would."

Eddie let out a soft sigh, turning his eyes to the popcorn ceiling above them. "I thought maybe it was just something you were saying. It would've been okay if it was, you know."

"No it wouldn't've," Richie said, offended on Eddie's behalf. "If I say I'm gonna do something, I better do it, right?"

Snorting, Eddie thought of the many, many times Richie said he was gonna 'do' something (someone.) "Not really."

With a roll of his eyes, Richie got up from the bed and, with his back to Eddie, hunching over his bag so as not to give away the surprise, he pulled out the single-serving apple juice bottles, hooped together with plastic. Eddie could probably store them in a dark corner of his closet, where Mrs. K wouldn't discover them while 'cleaning'. He zipped his backpack up, and returned to the bed, setting them on top of Eddie's stomach. "See? 10,000 grams of sugar, just for you."

"My _heart_ ," Eddie joked, picking them up just enough to see the label, before sliding them to the side. An act of a brush-off, except for the fact that his arm encircled the bottles afterward. "Thanks for setting the alarm. The other day."

"It didn't startle you? I was just -"

"Worried?" Eddie said eyes crinkling in amusement.

He wasn't wrong. Maybe Eddie did kind of make him into a worry-wart. But he also suspected a lot of his personality changes (development) came back around to what happened five years ago. Though occasionally - or perhaps more-than-occasionally, there was a bright white light blotting that summer out. Mind always swimming over some unseen draft, jumping from point A to point C so quickly that point B might not have existed in the first place. Only if Richie _really_ looked for it, or sometimes when he rode his bike home alone at night, could he find the details there. Not that he ever wanted to, because his stomach would turn topsy-turvy, and he'd go hollow, gray.

"I didn't know if I should leave or not," Richie said, hoping it would bare the truth that he didn't really know how else that day could have ended.

Eddie shrugged. "That's okay. I'm not surprised I fell asleep during such a _boring_ story."

"How dare you." Richie cast a fake glare Eddie's way as he said, "Take that back, or you'll never get your present."

"The apple juice wasn't my present?" Eddie asked, bewildered, sitting up and glancing at Richie's dusty black backpack.

"Who the hell gives apple juice as a present, Eds? Jesus." The fact that Eddie thought it was a nice enough gesture to constitute one, however, resonated with Richie, and his chest puffed up with pride, as well as raw affection.

He took in a quick breath and then looked at Eddie, whose face was tight around his eyes, and mouth. "You didn't have to get me anything else. You didn't have to get me anything at _all_."

His turn to shrug. "I wanted to, Dumbo." He tried not to think too hard about the fact that Eddie's chest was heaving slightly as he looked at Richie. Studying him. Richie swung his leg around, going to play with the edge of Eddie's wardrobe, on top of which a long mirror sat horizontally facing the bed. Where he didn't _have_ to take notice of the scrutiny.

Hesitating over whether to be gracious, or tell Richie he had better things to spend his money on, Eddie's mouth opened, and then closed again, as he stared at the hard points of Richie's shoulder blades beneath his black t-shirt. His mouth had gone dry, he realized, as he opened his mouth again. The words caught around his lips, and he found he had to work at getting them out. "I'm gonna change. Okay?"

Richie heard an oceanic roar pass through his ears. He decided, this time, it would be okay to make a joke. Not to discount the trepidation in Eddie's voice, but instead to reaffirm that Richie didn't judge him, if that was what he wanted, he said, "You're not just trying to get your gift are you...?"

"Shut up," Eddie said, huffing out a laugh as he moved toward the closet. Having seen his reflection, Richie knew when to turn his eyes away, and approached the night table to see if the sippy cup and pacifier were still buried in its drawer. They were, lying on a buckling paper towel, in three separate pieces, clearly having been washed and laid there to dry. He brought them, paper towel and all, onto the surface, and then carefully swiped up the apple juice from the bed without invading Eddie's privacy.

As if they hadn't changed in front of each other a thousand times, and swam together practically naked every summer. But, as a general rule, ever since - well, ever since. He'd tried his best not to take advantage of it, by ever actually _looking_. With intent. So of course he'd be just as wary now, and even more so since Eddie was the only one going through the motions.

Breaking through a single loop of plastic, he freed a bottle, and began pouring its contents into the cup, before screwing on the cap. "Sorry it's room-temp, Eds," Richie said. But apple juice didn't have to be cold, right? In fact most of the juice boxes he'd had at lunchtime, growing up, had never been refrigerated. "If you like it colder, I can swing by the burger place next time, get a cup of ice."

There was a striking quiet as a response, and then a gentle tug at Richie's shirt. He felt his heart skip - _stupid_ \- and turned to see Eddie all done up in that fleecy sky-blue onesie. There were pale yellow stars and moons, and a teddy bear with a nightcap who rested in the curve of the half-moon. Like the moon was a warm, soft palm for a very small creature to make its bed in.

" _Hey_..." he said to Eddie, in a tone much softer than before. There was an urge to pinch his cheek, or maybe sweep him up in his arms. Like Richie hadn't _just_ been sitting on Eddie's bed with him.

(A prickle of guilt scurried up his spine like a spider. He _didn't_ prefer Eddie this way, Richie assured himself. It was just something different. On a plane that had opened up a world of things Richie could do for Eddie without being questioned as to why he was willing to do them. The affection he felt all the time, seemed okay to show in various ways he'd never felt comfortable confronting before. And no, it wasn't a good excuse. To try to escape from his feelings, or _into_ them, but as long as Eddie was accepting of his closeness, then Richie didn't think he could deny himself. So yeah, a part of him felt a different kind of appreciation for this Eddie. And a part of him, growing still, was becoming attached in all-new ways.)

Instead, he ruffled the gently curled ends of Eddie's hair, and handed over the juice. "You're gonna love it," Richie promised. A thousand times more than the gross stuff Eddie's mom had gotten him.

A piece of Eddie wanted to laugh and roll his eyes. He'd had _sugar_ before. Like, literally every time he left the house with money in his pocket. But he understood that Richie was coming from a place assuming this little boy, only ever in the care of his mother, had not. So this was the space Eddie tried to come from, when he first took a sip.

Knowing that way back when that really was his life, he wouldn't have known any better. Wouldn't have cared if something tasted of aspartame. Or had very little flavor to offer at all. And in that way, he could learn to appreciate the precautions she had taken, with food. Setting Eddie up for a life not immediately dependent upon sweetness, being used to the tastes of healthy food, thereby presenting him with a better opportunity to keep eating the way he was taught to begin with. If he had a child, he might consider raising them the same way. In that regard.

Really, it was everything else that needled at his mind. Ground at him whenever he took medicine, made his muscles tense up in the want of rebellion when he found himself pulling away from an untidy, unclean activity. Infuriated him, when his pen nib would hover over a sports sign-up sheet, before finally falling away without a mark.

As Eddie took the first sip, juice pouring out through three tiny holes at the spout, Richie side-stepped him, unzipping his bag. The tang against the sweet, really did pique the interest of his tongue, made him feel oddly special as it sloshed down his throat. He took another sip immediately after, then set his cup on the table.

The binky which sat beside it called to Eddie then, and he placed it in his mouth, teeth bumped up against his lips, which in turn sat along the plastic wall. The rubbery plastic bulb was too small, unfortunately, to really suck on, since it wasn't meant to have so many barriers, and such large ones at that. But it suited Eddie fine enough, and though the taste had initially been off-putting, he'd grown to associate a certain kind of peace with it.

Then, upon climbing onto his bed, Eddie saw what Richie had brought for him. A flutter of glee, unexpected, lifted Eddie's shoulders as he sucked in a deep breath from his nostrils, and reached out to take the present from Richie's out-stretched arms. Richie came to sit sideways by Eddie's feet, placing a warm, solid hand over his ankle. Eddie was studying it, feeling the squish of it beneath his fingers, completely entranced by the white-washed, yellow-less Agouti fur. Silky yet textured. With it's pale pink, velveteen nose, and its iridescent-brown eyes.

Richie's thumb stroked over the bend of Eddie's foot, watching, pleased, as Eddie took the bunny in. He'd spent a pretty penny on it, got it from a top shelf at Freese's. There were all manner of animals to choose from, but for some reason when he saw that one, he knew (or at least strongly hoped) that it was the right one.

Even more so when he pulled it into a test-hug and the plush of it really felt like something. Like you weren't just gonna squeeze its guts into dust, but something that would maintain. Be something heavy enough to really connect with. But light enough it could sail along with you, your hand holding its arm, as you raced through your dreams. Like in that book he'd been read once, about a little boy and his Radio Flyer wagon, flying passed the stars, and landing on the Sandman's ship with his barrels of gold dust, and metal moon trinkets. Maybe the bunny could be so influential as to stave off nightmares. Or perhaps Eddie's dreams didn't size down. If not would it help regardless?

"You get to name him. Or her. Anything you want. Even if it's just a sound you can think in your head, but aren't sure how to say out loud, okay?" Richie's eyes were squinted bright, behind his glasses, exuding a certain type of warmth. Atoms vibrating at a high frequency. An energy and an eagerness. Eddie thought, despite what Richie said, he might actually like to know whatever name Eddie chose. But Richie was right. He wasn't quite sure about how to say a lot of things, and anyway, he wanted to take his time. Get to know his bunny more before bestowing something as important as a name.

To show his gratitude, Eddie smiled from behind his pacifier, the corners of his mouth suddenly appearing as he squeezed the rubber between his teeth to make sure it didn't plop out. Richie winked at him then, and Eddie's heart swooped in a way he knew had been entirely out of his control. Not 'small' enough, but unquestionably there.

"Should we let Mr. or Mrs. To Be Announced share your drink while we color?" Richie asked, sliding off the bed to lift the skirt, checking to see if the coloring book and crayons were where he'd left them. They were, and so he pulled them out.

By the time Eddie was back in view, he'd already set the bunny at the head of the bed, and then laid horizontally on his tummy, waiting for Richie to splay the book out in front of him. "Which page do you wanna do?" Richie asked, laying the items down. He took the sippy cup from the bed table, and then sat it between the bunny's legs, then tucked its arms in the gaps of the handles like he could actually lift the cup to his mouth. Eddie saw, eyes alight as he let out a soft giggle.

Eddie had flipped to a page with a scene different from the other day. This one featured the guy from before, the one with the sandwich. But it appeared to be his day off, cape nowhere to be seen. Instead he was at a cafe, leg crossed, sipping at a lemonade - or tea or something, depending on the color Eddie picked, with a lady sat across from him. A little speech bubble jutted off the side of her face, and it said, 'I can't believe he won, with a ham sandy in his mouth!' Richie thought that might be Captain Secret Identity's witless girlfriend, on a brunch date with him shortly after he defeated Colander Head.

Richie shook his head slightly at Eddie, as he jumped, superman-style, onto his stomach beside him. Eddie was obviously going in order, rather than flipping to random pages like a child would usually do. At least, any child Richie'd ever been around. But he'd try to work that instinct out of Eddie some other time.

For now, he was slotted with the task of coloring in the girlfriend. The polar bears and penguins were sent on break, relieved from their duty of protecting the Crayola people, as Richie dumped the bag out in front of the coloring book, and grabbed a crayon without looking at the color. It ended up being a bright magenta, so Richie figured Captain Secret Identity's type had a bit of a wild streak, and started filling in her coils of hair.

When he looked over at Eddie's side, he accidentally let slip a soft snort.

Eddie was tracing the black lines with his chosen color, green for the man's shirt. If he was repeating the pattern from last time, he'd use the hard-pressed green outline as a guide for filling in the beige background with a single-angle back-and-forth swipe of his crayon. Clean and neat. Luckily Eddie didn't notice, or Richie might've felt badly for laughing.

This way he could try to gently remind Eddie, instead. He cleared his throat, and waited for Eddie to cast a glance his way, before he took a brown and colored, jagged, over the top of a croissant. When he looked up from the small image, Eddie met his eyes, and then a little breath exited his nose, and his cheeks tinted slightly. But a look of resolve appeared in his eyes. A resolve that caused Richie to feel a swell of pride. _Get 'em, Eds._

At the first out-of-bounds mark, Eddie's face had screwed up. At least the half that Richie could see. It was possible that that simple act of defiance would have to be enough. That Eddie would find it too frustrating, and decide that he was just always going to like things to be in their place. A personality trait all his own, and not one his mother had impressed upon him, after all. Eddie didn't _have_ to enjoy being messy. There wasn't anything wrong with the way he was, as long as he wasn't upset about it.

Richie thought that just might be the case, so went back to focusing on his picture so that Eddie could figure it out on his own. The next time he looked back, however, both their images were a torrent of color, swirling, pointed, rainbow tornadoes. The lines were gone from the corners of his eyes, everything smoothed with the ease of acceptance. Richie lifted his closest hand, and pet down the back of Eddie's head. _Good job, buddy._ "Ready to sign your masterpiece?" Richie asked, already beginning to use the white crayon to letter 'R I C H I E' over the top of the concoction of other colors. Eddie's face turned his way eyes wide and questioning, and Richie smiled. "Don't worry, I'll help ya."

Handing Eddie the white, Richie covered Eddie's little fist of hand with his own, and then began guiding the crayon, towards the bottom of the page, to spell 'E D D I E'. Then he reached across, and took Eddie by the wrist, bringing up his resting palm for a high five, saying, "Nice! D'you think I could take these home?" Eddie nodded with fervor, a smile once again appearing behind his binky. Fuck, Richie loved seeing that.

Richie slid the coloring book closer to himself, and gathered the pages up in one hand. "I'll have to rip 'em out, Eds," he warned, "Still okay?"

Eddie paused for a second. The story would be incomplete then. He'd never know what picture was on the other side of Richie's half. But it didn't matter, he guessed. And. And if it did, then he could just ask Richie to see them. Like one of those friendship locket sets that has half a word on each locket, and then when the friends reunite, they can push the half-words together and see that it really says 'Lo''ve'. Or whatever. Eddie nodded again.

The sound that came from the middle of the book was what he expected melting, crackling ice might sound like sped up. Richie, surprisingly, did not make a huge mess of it, although he did have to stop in the middle and re-grip to avoid losing a whole chunk of the bottom.

Folding the pages in half, Richie slunk backward until his feet hit the ground and then pushed himself off the bed, toward his backpack. Once they were pushed up nice and flat against the back lining, and zipped up tight, Richie came around to where Eddie was facing. He smiled, watching as Eddie spun a crayon around and around in the middle of the page, now left staring at an image he'd already completed, and one he no longer had the complete context for, which was void of color.

He crouched down, and smoothed Eddie's hair back, heart absolutely brimming as Eddie turned his pretty brown eyes onto Richie's face, a pink color speckling his tan cheeks. "Thanks for the pictures, Eds... I guess I'll head out, now."

Eddie felt his throat constricting, and this confused even himself, as his eyes pricked, and his vision blurred slightly. Then he realized why. And. He sat up, quickly moving to rest back on his heels. He felt himself shaking his head, but his body was stiff. An overwhelming feeling of ' _don't_ ' flooding him. _Don't leave me_.

"Oh," Richie said, surprised, and then more gravely, " _Oh_. No. No, no, no. Don't be _sad_." There was a 'sweetheart' to tack on, floating somewhere in his brain, as he lifted his thumb to stroke across Eddie's ruddy cheek. "Don't be sad," he said again, standing up to press a kiss to Eddie's central hairline. Eddie's eyes just glistened with tears all the more. "No, come here. I'm here." Richie climbed up onto the bed, scooping the bunny and sippy cup, up and to the side.

He sat cross-legged, and motioned with his hands for Eddie to come closer. Eddie did, on hands and knees for a moment, then just his knees. And Richie tucked his out-stretched hands into Eddie's underarms, and helped guide him into sitting. Eddie's legs arched over one of Richie's thighs, with his rear sunk perfectly into the gap of Richie's legs. Picking the bunny up, its arms sliding out from its hold on the juice, Richie held it before Eddie's face.

"You don't have to be sad or lonely, cause now you have your bunny. And you know what?" Richie asked, lifting the bunny to press his glasses up into place with the back of his wrist. Eddie looked up at him, listening for the answer to the question. "If you're ever feeling blue, you just give your bunny a hug.

If you're missing someone in particular... Then the bunny will send your hug to them. In fact, he can send Eskimo Kisses, too!" Richie said, a declaration, before he swooped the bunny down. Leveling his velvety pink nose with Eddie's button one, and rubbed them gently together. Already, he could see Eddie's eyes clearing, no longer threatening to leak water out over his pretty little cheeks. " _And_ " Richie added soundly, "He'll also give you all your return hugs and kisses! So any time someone wants to hug or kiss you back, bunny will tell you, so you know they got yours."

Eddie grabbed the bunny, pulling him in tight to his chest, squeezing about as hard as you could imagine, feeling its plush form to his body. Then he leaned his head forward, and to the side, on Richie's far shoulder. Sinking in like an anchor. Holding Richie to the bed, despite what he'd just told Eddie his bunny was for. Like a two-armed hug for the bunny, and a full-bodied hug for Richie. Naturally, Richie enclosed Eddie's body, folding his hands together on Eddie's hip, his cheek to the crown of Eddie's head, soft hairs tickling up behind Richie's frames.

And then his heart went _thud_. Bass-tone. It'd sunken into a room of 3-feet-deep walls, buried within his chest. _Thud_. A muffled booming-sound like a hand-covered subwoofer.

His chest tightened, and thus did his grip, just slightly, as it hit him with the force of a Mack truck, how much he fucking _loved_ this _kid_.

Not just as a friend, the way he always had. Or even the romantic way he _almost_ always had. But as someone totally devoted to keeping another person as happy and as safe as possible (without smothering them - although he was, scarily enough, beginning to gain perspective on some of Mrs. K's pitfalls as a mother. _**Some**_.)

It was such an odd and intoxicating feeling, because as incredible as Eddie had always been, to him... The sweet way his lower lip pouted out when he was annoyed, and the way he could shove so hard with such skinny arms. How he always pulled back - trying to protect himself from potential harm, but also from the reward to be gained in taking on adventure. But the second anyone else needed help he would spring into action without a second thought. Without caring that he would be diving into a situation perhaps even more risky than he'd just denied himself. And into a situation which didn't even have the _potential_ to be fun. Just to help someone else.

The way he'd get words mixed up, yet knew the clinical definition of every malady. The way he could fix everyone's bikes up, and never even asked for a 'thank you' because he just loved the technical work of it. The simple cause and effect mechanics. How he could go from an absolutely furious scowl to a blissful smile in .02 seconds flat whenever he saw kids actually enjoying themselves, having a good day in the streets of Derry. The frank and unimpeded way he was willing to call _anyone_ and _everyone_ out on their bullshit.

This, whatever it was in its entirety, was just one more thing that got under Richie's skin and made him feel _sick_ with the need to ... just so many things. Take care of Eddie at all costs, be with him as often as possible, never let him go.

A gripping, shattering fear that Richie thought might keep him up on an endless number of nights, because people drifted apart, and people got older, and people changed their interests and their paths and they left and then eventually. Eventually they never came back.

And he didn't know how he got so lucky as to be the one Eddie showed this side of himself to. But it also scared him to death that now Richie had just _one_ more expectation, or request, from life. That he not lose sight of this piece, that Eddie not take it from him, or grow to resent him, somehow. In the same way he resented his mother.

But Richie _wouldn't_ do what she did, _ever_. He _knew_ that, but there were doubts huddling around him, and smooshed all together by the sheer amount and velocity at which his love for Eddie was growing. And... And his heart was beating too fucking fast and his mind was racing, but through quick sand. How was he supposed to - supposed to find some kind of balance? What was he supposed _to do_?

" _Jesus_ , Eddie..." Richie heard himself say, before immediately retreating, putting his cheek to the nape of Eddie's neck, hiding his face.

It took Eddie just a moment, just an extra churn of the cog to move through his current head space to _that_. He said, " _What_?" around the pacifier, before remembering to remove it.

Richie was shaking his head, Eddie could feel it. "Sorry. No, pretend I didn't say anything." He didn't mean to break Eddie away, slash his tires, _whatever_.

One eyebrow raised, Eddie turned his neck, looking at the crown of Richie's head, his hair mussed, and sticking to the fibers of Eddie's 'jammies'. "You called me Eddie," he said, an accusation. And as evidence to back up why he couldn't very well do what Richie just asked of him.

"I know." Richie sounded miserable, voice scratching its way slowly up the restricted pathways of Richie's throat. "I've got too much stuff going on in my head right now and I -"

Suddenly a lump formed in Eddie's own throat, and the sting that Richie had wiped away just moments ago returned, albeit less aggressive than before. When he was little. "What - like. Like you don't want to do this. Because I never said that you had to -"

"No!" Richie cried into Eddie's back, arm encircling his waist more tightly. "God no. That's not what I'm saying. It's actually like, the complete opposite..." Richie's voice was shrill, a wildness beneath its surface like Eddie hadn't heard in such a long, long time. But at least he turned his head back up, daring to look at Eddie again, his cheeks flared red, and his eyebrows, usually hidden by his frames, dipped below. "Which is _why_ I'm having a fucking **aneurysm** right now!"

Eddie's brow creased several times as his eyebrows shot up, and he clapped a hand to Richie's mouth. "My. Mom. Will. Hear. You." he said, low and grave. Richie's face matched Eddie's expression, eyes becoming even larger behind his lenses, and he nodded behind Eddie's fingers, huffing a hot breath of air out through his nose. "Jesus, Rich, you're a fuckin' mess." He peeled his hand away, dropping it to the side and cupping Richie's shoulder.

Richie's head jerked back at that, as he whisper-exclaimed, "Well that's the other problem right there! You've always made me a mess. I gained thirty new god damn voices the year I realized I had a crush on you! And now _this_!" Panic-voices was what they were. And not a single one of them had ever jumped in to _help_ the situation, had they? Unless by 'help' one meant 'push Eddie the fuck away and drive the rest of their friends insane.' Fucking useless!

Someone had unzipped Eddie's chest. His actual chest. Then rummaged around between his rib cage to find his heart, squeezing it, stilling it as much as they could without actually killing him. A low hum, a buzz crackled through his brain, and his temples felt... numb? He'd never even noticed feeling anything in his temples except for a dull throb when he had headaches, before. He swallowed, feeling like his tongue had grown fat in his throat, all the way down his neck. Like he might've just swallowed it whole. Very nearly choking on it.

"You what?" As monotone as his voice was, as his body was reacting, there was a sincere part of Eddie somewhere - he just couldn't tell where - that was absolutely _frantic_ and not at _all_ reflected in his voice.

" _Oh my god_!" Richie said, verging on yelling. Again.

 _God damn it, Rich,_ Eddie thought, squeezing into Richie's shoulder. He'd lost his filter. The filter the rest of the Losers club had painstakingly built for him over the years. Training him in the art of not saying _every_ little thing that came to his mind, and certainly not at max volume. Maybe, just maybe keeping him from an early grave.

Holy hell... Eddie'd broken him.

Hence why Richie was shouting again, because he'd realized what he'd just said. Aloud. _Very_ aloud.

All the while Eddie sitting awkwardly in his lap, Richie having zero escape unless he gathered enough strength to brute-force Eddie up and away. Yet his fingers still dug gingerly into Eddie's hip. And he had yet again buried his face into Eddie's back. Bemused, Eddie's hand took direction from a part of his brain that was working, a part his mouth couldn't yet reach, as it began petting limply at Richie's shoulder. Placating him in the only way it apparently knew how. At least until something else could catch up.

Eddie blinked, once, then twice, as he began to emerge from the fog and the brambles. He licked out at his lower lip, then bit into it for good measure as he wrapped the words around his mental finger, aligning them just right, so that he could see where they actually ended.

"So," he said. And Richie let out a muffled groan, as he hugged Eddie even tighter, if that was possible, to his face.

"You, um, _like_ being around me -" 'Being around' read as 'taking care of,' and they both knew it. 'Like' was probably a loose term as well, considering Richie's exasperation. "When I'm - Little." The word felt like cotton in his mouth. He'd never said it before. Never even really allowed himself to take on the arduous task of breaking down why or what he was doing.

[It all just started one day when he was in the local drug store, getting his aspirator re-filled (his fake aspirator, he reminded himself, rolling his eyes,) and he'd walked into the infant aisle to get some baby wipes for gym class - he didn't like feeling sweaty, okay? - and when he saw a package of pacifiers, one with an image of a yellow Saturn with blue and red rings, he'd grabbed them, and taken them to the druggist.

Blurted out the lie that he was going to donate them to the shelter next time he went to the Big hospital, because he'd seen a mother and child walking in the _last_ time. The druggist, of course, had not cared one ounce to hear the information, but accepted Eddie's cash, rather than placing it on Mrs. Kasprak's account all the same. When he'd gotten home, he'd looked at the little paper bag they were slotted into, taken out his inhaler, and then promptly chucked the bag up onto the top shelf of his closet. Until, of course, it had nagged at him enough to make him admit the curiosity he, for some reason felt, about holding one in his mouth for the first time since he was a toddler.

Things had escalated from there. He'd gotten money from his mother for a 'school project' and then gone thrifting instead, where no one ever cared what went through the register, as long as they got it out of the store. That's where his pajamas had come from. They still had the manufacturer tag on them. Eddie, lucky that he was small for his age, as ever, had found some PJ's some younger kid had probably ungratefully felt they were too 'old' to wear, when their mother brought them home after Saturday sale shopping.

Just the two things alone had made Eddie feel a world of things he hadn't known he was missing before. But it grew dull, with just them, and he felt odd (although still rather comfortable) sitting there in his footies, binky in mouth, reading automotive books, or gazing at catalogues of recently patented inventions. Wrong, almost.

So then came the coloring book and necessary crayons. On the same stop, he'd thrown in the sippy cup too, giving the same excuse as before. "Still haven't gotten to that shelter yet. Thought I'd throw in a couple extra goodies." And then guiltily, he had told the druggist to wait before closing out his bill, and ran back to grab duplicates. So that he actually _could_ donate something the next time he left town.]

"But you also... _like_ me. And this weirds you out because you feel like you're supposed to have one feeling or the other...?"

The hard edges of Richie's glasses were beginning to dig into Eddie's back. If he could just find the thing to say, to make him come out of hiding... But then, he kind of liked the way Richie was clinging onto him. Despite Richie's discomfort, Eddie's surprise and disbelief were melting down, giving way to a glow that started in his core, and was now reaching out to all his ends. "Richie," Eddie said, voice almost cracking into a laugh. He was trying, god help him, he was. Trying not to be unkind or indelicate about the way Richie was fretting. But he also found great satisfaction in it. A joy unencumbered by Richie's double-vision dilemma. And, in fact, Eddie was entirely pleased to hear that he _did_ feel two ways about a one-way road.

Richie heaved a sigh from behind him, and picked himself up off Eddie-the-coat-rack-for-droopy-things. "I'm the worst babysitter _ever_. Not only that, but I made you sad twice! _In two days_ ," Richie said, emphatic in his point that he had earned his misery and embarrassment.

Eddie smirked, one side of his mouth budging up one cheek, as a single eyebrow bowed down. Shaking his head minutely, he asked, "What are you talking about? You made me feel _better_ twice. News Flash, Rich: I was _already_ sad." And although Eddie had never said this aloud before, either, it came out less fibrous and foreign than the label he'd used before.

It rang true in his ears, enough so that his eyes fell then, as his chest congested. He guessed he always had been just _this_ side of sad.

He still couldn't produce much in the way of an explanation, apart from the obvious; his mother had always been too careful, too set on indoctrinating Eddie into believing everything was out to get him, harm him, if he wasn't very, extra careful. If he wasn't wrapped tight around her finger, that was. Then when his father passed, she didn't have _anyone_ to tell her to stop squawking over Eddie, to lay off the kid, or stop spending valuable money on her ridiculous notions! Eddie was left to fend for himself against a woman who insisted, whom the whole world over had insisted: Mother Knows Best.

"When I went to leave...?" Richie said, brow still drawn tight. His grip loosened now, and he even managed to shove his frames up his face before quickly interlocking his fingers at Eddie's side once more. Eddie could feel parts of his body tingling, falling asleep. He wanted to move, but he didn't, and he wanted Richie to want to move, but he didn't. The words were circling in the air, trying to follow a train of thought Richie clearly didn't think made sense. For what logical reason, Eddie wasn't entirely sure, but he knew what Richie was suggesting.

"I always hate it when you leave, dumbass." _Ding! Dong!_ Rich, Eddie was just able to show how it _really_ made him feel for the _first fucking time_.

He hated this home, the kitschy way his mother decorated it, the furniture in his bedroom that she'd hand-picked, the wallpaper she told him to like, the carpet she inferred he should want. The food in the kitchen that was as bland and as exhausting as any conversation he'd ever had with her. An entire universe sewn, directed, and carbonite frozen by his mother, him right along with it. Richie was the one and only thing that stuck out from the place like a truly sore thumb. Vibrant, untamed, lively and careless. Just by being around, he transported Eddie to another realm. A place of respite from the deafening hum-drum that was his every-other waking moment in that godawful place. The eternal echo of drilled-in fear-mongering.

It was a miserable experience to sink back into that cavern of dark warnings and control, alone, every time Richie exited out his window. Taking all the color and daring with him.

One that Eddie had, in part, found a way to mend with his recent venture backward. Only, he ended up realizing, all over again, how even _that_ was still pulled by strings his puppeteer mother held in her pudgy hands. He'd spent days or nights, over a period of weeks edging on months pretending he was so bold to be doing what he was. So self-efficient and risque in the way his brain and heart would lighten.

Then to be told the very second Richie entered _that_ picture, that he'd still been holding on too tight. _'Little boys and little girls don't have to color in the lines.'_ So simple. So glaringly obvious. And it'd taken _Richie_ to point it out. Of course it had.

And it _wasn't_ that Eddie wanted to go from being reliant upon one person to the next. But somehow, miracle of miracles because jesus christ it was _Richie_ after all, Richie had done everything in such a way that Eddie felt - through all of the shame that turned his face into lava - they were doing it _together_. Not Richie telling him how he should behave, or what he should feel. No, instead it was Richie instinctively knowing what was at the center, propelling Eddie. Or at the very least, fumbling to try to pick that line up, even when he was in the dark. Being led by Eddie, while remaining a load-bearing wall at either side of him.

He'd felt foolish before, when his eyes had teared up. _He's not leaving forever, dumbdumb. He can't live here. What's wrong with you?_ he'd thought. Then came the wave of utter dedication on Richie's part, and somehow it felt _okay_ that he might ever actually _want_ to need someone. Even if that want was what created the need in the first place.

"You do?" Richie asked, the self-loathing scowl finally slipping off his face, smoothing out the light blanket of freckles.

Eddie knew he liked to give Richie a hard time. Knew he sometimes doled out punishments that didn't really fit the crime. All as part of their natural banter, he had thought. But the honest-to-god surprise in Richie's voice just then stole some of the light away. Had he really been so unbalanced? So mean that Richie didn't understand that Eddie, more often then not, meant the opposite of what he was saying? 'Jesus Rich, shut the fuck up. Get outta here, will ya?'

God, he hadn't meant it. Sure some of Richie's 'jokes' could get annoying, and sometimes maybe Eddie couldn't always keep up with which voice he was talking to or why they had anything to do with anything. But that didn't mean he didn't, underneath it all, appreciate that he was present for the onslaught. At the end of the day. Hadn't he, over the last little while at the very least, shown that his bite _was_ his bark and nothing more than a wind-up?

Even Richie had joked that Eddie secretly liked the torment, ever since they were kids. _Jeez, Rich... Don't you get it?_

"Do me a favor and pretend I'm in my normal clothes," Eddie said, a warning, not waiting as he finally moved his heavy, stiff-jointed legs, pushing off Richie's shoulder and the bed at the same time.

While Richie, looking confused again, said, "Okay. Sure, but w-" And Eddie's brain was too overloaded to really track whether Richie's question stopped right when he straddled his waist, or if it was their lips slotting together, Eddie's nose pushing up into Richie's glasses. Holding them, floating them, above the bridge of Richie's nose. Richie let out a high-pitched sound from the back of his throat as Eddie ever so slightly massaged the pads of his thumbs into the dents in front of Richie's ear lobes, fingers and palms cupping Richie's head as he kissed him.

That keening sound of something long dreamed of, finally being realized, sent out a charming shock of happiness. So strong Eddie nearly began laughing into the kiss. But then Richie's hands found the small of his back, the dimples that were created by his hip bones, and kneaded. Eddie felt himself melt down, around the kiss, his own wish-come-true moment solidifying in his mind as they parted. " _Fuck_ ," he breathed out.

Richie slowly joined him in opening his eyes. Deep and black, and looking just about the same way Eddie felt, when they came back into the light. "Eds..." Richie groaned, forehead landing near the crux of Eddie's collarbone, Eddie's chin cradled over his head. "You don't know what you're doing..."

"Yes I do," Eddie scoffed, simultaneously trilling at hearing his nickname. Some sanity restored, thank god.

"To _me_ ," Richie said, "You don't know what you're doing to _me_."

Eddie laughed, and combed his hands upward, scooping up large splices of Richie's hair, gently angling his head back. "If it's anything like what you're doing to me, then I have a pretty good idea." He kissed Richie once more, for good measure.

Definitely a lot. Definitely doing an awful lot.

"This is gonna fuck us up, by the way," Richie said. Eddie quirked his eyebrow in response. "I mean, you realize that my will-power rests at a steady zero. There's no way this is gonna stay a secret."

Eddie sighed, and leaned back, into Richie's hands. "Well, the only person I'm really worried about causing issues is my mom, and that applies to everything else in my life, so I'm not sure we really need to worry that much. Let's just not change our motto: _Always_ lie to my mother."

"Fair enough," Richie said, and then shrugged. Then his mouth turned down, and his gaze dulled. "Wait. This doesn't mean that... You're not gonna. Like - I'm still allowed to hang out with this," Richie said, picking at the shoulder of Eddie's pajamas, "You, right?"

An upward curve formed at one side of Eddie's mouth, slowly moving to the other. "Don't be stupid. Are you still freaked out? Because. Like, I don't know how to make it more clear that you're - you're -"

Richie laughed. "Jesus. You still have such a hard time giving me a compliment. Look at you. _Fuck me_ ," he said in that derisive way, around his toothy smile.

Rolling his eyes, Eddie's shoulders began to tense up. Yeah, it was something he'd have to work on.

"It's because I feel like you should already _know_ what I mean to say. I mean how can you not?" How could Richie _not_ be aware of what an amazing person he was. Yes, his jokes were lame. And yes, they were offensive. But in a completely satirical way in which everyone who mattered knew that he had not an ounce of malice in his bony body. He was protective and affectionate. Smart, and a fucking _fast_ learner. He knew how to change modes as quick as a switch. And like okay. Okay, _some_ of what he said was actually pretty funny. Admitting _that_ was something Eddie wasn't sure he'd ever be able to do.

So Eddie had always, inappropriately maybe, handled Richie like he was afraid his head might explode from getting too big.

"You're so." Eddie had made a mistake in his assumption. Maybe all of the Losers had.

Well, except Ben, and usually Bev, and sometimes Mike.

Now he was questioning why it took him so long. Why he had to cycle through so many instances of assuming Richie was fishing for confirmation of what he already knew about himself: That he was loved by everyone and they were all a little jealous at how freely he spoke, and how unrepentant he was for being himself. How grateful they were for the way he could cut through tension, remind everyone that there was still light-hearted, stupid humor, and therefore good in the world. Happiness to be had.

When _clearly_ that had never been the case. He hadn't been fishing for confirmation. A drop of blood to sign the contract that everyone agreed Richie Tozier was the best.

He'd been fishing for fucking scraps he already knew didn't exist, hook baited with empty words...

"It's alright, Eds. You don't have to force yourself."

"Kind." One word at a time.

Though Eddie thought he deserved a good slap right about then for not being able to get over this hangup and just flat-out word-vomit compliment Richie, even if just this once. Old habits, and all that, he thought. _Go to hell_ , he told himself. Then sucked in another breath, and leaned his forehead against Richie's, eyes falling closed. Not seeing just how surprised Richie looked, and apprehensive.

And Richie found himself, after all, not ready to hear anything Eddie looked like he was about to say. He felt _anxious_ even. What the actual hell. "Yeah, well thanks," Richie said, trying to accept the compliment with an air of finality. That was good enough. No more, please.

"Honestly Rich, you're so fucking sweet and intelligent... Brave."

"Eds, stop."

Eddie swallowed, bringing his hands across Richie's shoulders, to brace him at his neck, thumbing at the points where Richie's pulse was banging too-fast beneath his pale skin. And then Eddie slipped down further, his arms jutting out crossed at the wrists, at Richie's nape, as he laid his head on Richie's collar bone. He opened his eyes, mouth close to Richie's heart and said, "You know. I fucking love you."

Richie's chest was heaving under Eddie's cheek, and he felt himself curl in further. A resonating guilt making him feel small, in the pathetic way. "God, I'm such an idiot. You're amazing. And I never fucking tell you because I'm a terrible friend."

The longer the silence stretched out, the more Eddie's stomach began to churn, like one of those cement-mixing machines. But he didn't know what else to do, and he hoped Richie just needed time to process and accept.

"Seriously. I'm gonna alienate every last one of our friends with how obnoxiously touchy-feely I'm gonna be. Everyone will think we've been in a radioactive accident, and that our bodies morphed together. We'll cause people to groan everywhere we go. 'Oh, gag me,' they'll say. 'Get a room!' The new soundtrack to our lives. Really, Eds. Really. You're gonna regret _everything_ you just said." Richie's words were supposed to be a joke. His tone was cocked that way, but where was the ammunition? Falling flat.

Eddie could've said, 'ew, gross,' or 'shut up,' or any number of other things to try and play it off like the idea was somehow offensive or annoying to think about.

Like maybe he would've done if this conversation were about something else, or if he was still insanely oblivious. But he wouldn't always be able to do this. Be... gentle. Genuine. Because his brain revolted at it every step of the way. And he'd fall back into his old ways, he already knew he would. So for just this moment, when he'd just opened himself up and said things that - shouldn't have, but _did_ \- terrify him, Eddie told the truth:

"Can't wait."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My notes are boring, don't worry about it...
> 
> 1\. I decided to change their age from 16 to 17. So they're going into their senior year come fall. Although I'll be honest with myself and say that I've kind of fucked up in making the timeline happen over summer (as opposed to winter break,) because the feelings I've written, I daresay a lot of people might argue are already too mature. I personally believe that, if love exists in this world, two people can fall in love at most any age. They might just have quite a rough and windy road ahead, the sooner they acknowledge it.
> 
> 2\. Title is from "[Kiss the Rain](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AJTarrsbt7I)" by [FEMM](https://www.songlyrics.com/femm/kiss-the-rain-lyrics/).
> 
> 3\. I know, I know. Infant-sized pacifiers are _not_ good for Little's mouths and for this I apologize to Eddie. Although this era is ambiguous because fuck homophobia, I didn't want to completely modernize everything and lose the charm of not having every bit of information at the tip of one's fingers. Therefore Eddie isn't aware that [adult pacifiers](https://pacifiersrus.com/shop/category/premade-catalog/) exist, and are much more comfortable, etc. And even if he did, he wouldn't know how or where to order them, or how to keep that purchase private. So let's pretend that it's _not_ an issue. Parallel Universe where adults can use infant pacifiers without pain and discomfort. K gr8.
> 
> 4\. The book Richie was 'once read' is a real children's book. I completely hate myself rn, because I can't remember the title or author or illustrator. My oldest brother gave it to me when I was really little, and it was signed by the author and had amazing artwork. And I don't think I would've given it away, but I _would_ have given it to my sister's kids, but my sister said she doesn't remember the title/showed no indication it had ever been in her possession so I'm like. Wtf. I looked for it all over the internet but can't find it. If you know what this book is, hit me up. I think in a picture with the boy in his wagon there's also a fishing pole with one of those big bobbing bits, that's a large ball, half-white and half-red. The little boy as dark auburn-brown hair, and wears white footie pajamas, and I think he has a teddy bear but I'm not sure.
> 
> 5\. 'Eskimo kisses' was used, and while I know that 'Eskimo' is not PC, there isn't actually an Inuit term for such kisses. In fact, I'm not sure why it was named 'Eskimo' since their tradition is called '[Kunik](https://www.quora.com/What-is-a-%E2%80%98politically-correct%E2%80%99-term-for-%E2%80%98Eskimo-kiss%E2%80%99)' and is, obviously, different.
> 
> 6\. If you ended up having to skim this, just for the dialog/action moments, you can let me know so that I can keep that in mind for future parts. I just wanted to explore more of the reasons behind actions taken and things said in this piece. Since this is a pivotal turning point in their relationship.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is essentially this!verse headcanons I don't have the desire to create scenes for, and as a lead-in to the next day.

Richie had held Eddie until both their bodies began to protest ten minutes later. They had talked more, mostly about the electives they were going to choose for school. Richie had thought about taking a musical theory class, while Eddie thought about automotive.

They wanted as many opportunities to be in the same classes as possible, especially since neither one of them had anymore foreign language credits to earn. Richie with his Spanish, and Eddie with his French. (Richie had never heard him speak a word of it, and wasn't sure how he passed. But _finally_ they were free from _that_ separation. However, they had to admit that their interests still varied enough they'd probably have to settle for the lottery that were the four Gen Ed courses per semester. Richie also mentioned drama, which Eddie wasn't _completely_ opposed to. Although he thought stage craft sounded more up his alley. If they got lucky, those two classes might at least collaborate from time to time.

Unable to settle everything in one evening, and with Richie having to report to work at a little taco place near the outskirts of town, they said goodnight. Eddie kissed him over the window sill. "Have fun smelling like beef," he'd said.

"¡Claro que sí!" Richie said, saluting. Richie made his way down to the sidewalk, and Eddie watched the reflectors on Richie's bike as he rode off.

Richie's _other_ 'job' was simply mowing lawns, or walking dogs. When his neighbors remembered he offered such services. Usually after they'd found a garden snake in their high grass, or the dog had chewed up their couch cushions.

Bill held most of Derry's lawn care down, occasionally splitting the jobs between the Losers when he found himself too busy. Bev worked at the diner. Very, very part-time. Ben did some filing for an accountant downtown, in-between volunteering at the library. Stan helped at a day camp where little boys and girls learned how to make useless buildings out of Popsicle sticks, along with dissecting an owl pellet, each, inter-mingled with a whole lot of flag football and off-key singing.

Mike, of course, was doing what he'd _been_ doing since he was twelve: working on the farm. He hated it, nearly every minute of it. But at least he and Ben had begun bonding over the library a few years back, when Mike learned how to speak up for himself post-sewers, earning himself more free time in the name of education. Frequenting the library became a highlight in Mike's life. Sure, his grandfather required a book report once a month to prove he was really doing something with his time, but Mike had been more than happy to comply. Even more so when his grandfather had been impressed enough to enroll Mike at the high school.

And Eddie was given an allowance. Rarely, someone offered to pay him a small service fee for fixing up bikes, skateboards, and lawnmowers. He'd even done some work on a snow mobile before, which had impressed the whole lot of them. Mostly, though, his mother was more than happy to bribe him to stay home when he wasn't out with his friends, and Richie had told him to take it while he could. It wouldn't last forever that they could avoid working full-time. "Just be a kid, nimrod," he'd said, when Eddie was grousing about seeming lazy compared to everyone else. Richie hadn't known at the time how literally Eddie was already complying with that advice.

Gathering everyone to hangout usually went a little like this: Bill would call Stan, who would call Mike. Bill would also call Ben, who would swing by Bev's house on his bike with its mini set of wind chimes, signaling her out of her home with her aunt none the wiser. Bill would also call Richie. Then, if everyone was available, Mike would start his long haul over from the farm, while Bill met Stan up halfway to Richie's house. After collecting Richie, the three of them, plus Bev and Ben, would meet somewhere near the Kaspbrak house, and someone would climb up to Eddie's bedroom window and have him sneak out, to avoid Mrs. K altogether. Then they'd all go to meet Mike wherever they'd established their destination should be. Sort of like a phone tree, but more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey... Maine is one of the few states to [not have poisonous snakes](http://www.city-data.com/forum/maine/39334-snakes-maine.html), cool, right? But some people are still touchy, and might like to be able to see them more clearly when walking around their yard. Hence Richie gettin' in there with a lawn mower. (Don't worry... I think the vibrations of the mower are enough to clear the area of snakes so they won't be in any danger ♥)


End file.
